“Permit me to suggest, sir,” said my uncle, “that so long as he is under the personal supervision of the magistrate, he may be said to be under the care of the law, and that this condition will be fulfilled if he is under the roof of Rougham Grange.” “Nothing could be better,” cried the squire, heartily. “You will stay with me, Ned, until this matter blows over. In other words, Lord Avon, I make myself responsible, as the representative of the law, that you are held in safe custody until your person may be required of me.” “Yours is a true heart, James.” “Tut, tut! it is the due process of the law. I trust, Sir Lothian Hume, that you find nothing to object to in it?” Sir Lothian shrugged his shoulders, and looked blackly at the magistrate. Then he turned to my uncle. “There is a small matter still open between us,” said he. “Would you kindly give me the name of a friend? Mr. Corcoran, who is outside in my barouche, would act for me, and we might meet to-morrow morning.” “With pleasure,” answered my uncle. “I dare say your father would act for me, nephew? Your friend may call upon Lieutenant Stone, of Friar’s Oak, and the sooner the better.” And so this strange conference ended. As for me, I had sprung to the side of the old friend of my boyhood, and was trying to tell him my joy at his good fortune, and listening to his assurance that nothing that could ever befall him could weaken the love that he bore me. My uncle touched me on the shoulder, and we were about to leave, when Ambrose, whose bronze mask had been drawn down once more over his fiery passions, came demurely towards him. “Beg your pardon, Sir Charles,” said he; “but it shocks me very much to see your cravat.” “You are right, Ambrose,” my uncle answered. “Lorimer does his best, but I have never been able to fill your place.” “I should be proud to serve you, sir; but you must acknowledge that Lord Avon has the prior claim. If he will release me—” “You may go, Ambrose; you may go!” cried Lord Avon. “You are an excellent servant, but your presence has become painful to me.” “Thank you, Ned,” said my uncle. “But you must not leave me so suddenly again, Ambrose.” “Permit me to explain the reason, sir. I had determined to give you notice when we reached Brighton; but as we drove from the village that day, I caught a glimpse of a lady passing in a phaeton between whom and Lord Avon I was well aware there was a close intimacy, although I was not certain that she was actually his wife. Her presence there confirmed me in my opinion that he was in hiding at Cliffe Royal, and I dropped from your curricle and followed her at once, in order to lay the matter before her, and explain how very necessary it was that Lord Avon should see me.” “Well, I forgive you for your desertion, Ambrose,” said my uncle; “and,” he added, “I should be vastly obliged to you if you would re-arrange my tie.” CHAPTER XXII. THE END.